


A King's Duty

by Jackks



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Ritual Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackks/pseuds/Jackks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Melisandre is required to seduce Stannis Baratheon to create the shadows. However, Stannis is far more obstinate than she expected, and the process is anything but sexy. Stannis POV. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A King's Duty

**Author's Note:**

> So, this a repost from my ff.net account that I wrote a few months ago, but I figure since I finally have an A03 account I should put something on it. Basically, this a response to the infamous Stannis/Mel/Painted Table scene in the HBO series. I've tried to write a shadow-baby-making seduction that is actually IC for Stannis, and unsurprisingly enough that took more than one scene. Apparently, 5000 words. As always, comments and critique are most welcome.
> 
> Fair Warning: This does include explicit, awkward ritual sex, though I think you already gathered that from the summary... Enjoy.

**A King's Duty**

 

His brisk stride came to a sudden halt, stomach clenched like that of a green boy on a battlefield. Stannis Baratheon had reached the bottom step of the stone spiral staircase to his wife's chambers. 

 

Except when Stannis went to battle, as he had done enough times, he didn't feel nerves, only cold anticipation. In warfare he was a competent commander, skilled even, and with many a victory notched to his name. Instead, in this his only victory was a sickly daughter, and that had come about through anything but skill and competence.

 

His lower jaw began to grind against the upper. It didn't matter how many times he performed this hateful act, nerves had never transferred to cold anticipation, or anything vaguely positive. If anything the knowledge of what exactly to expect, exactly what was going to transpire, only made it worse. He felt almost nauseated every time he had to face this staircase that otherwise he would do everything to avoid.

 

Except, he admitted to himself, this time he couldn't know what to expect. Not exactly. Though he could surmise enough to decide he did not wish to be there.

 

He moved one foot to rest on the bottom step, lingering to watch through a slit window as twilight began to give way to night. Grudgingly, all the while trying to ignore his knotting stomach, he moved one foot in front of the other to climb the hated staircase.

 

“You must give all of yourself to the Lord of Light.”

 

In the slick tones of her unearthly voice, the words echoed through his head. At least, he told himself, they made a change from the inane “The night is dark and full of terrors”.

 

Stannis had been staring at the painted table when she had first uttered them, paying little attention to their meaning, intent as he should be on war. Then a shimmer of falling red caught the corner of his eye, broke his concentration, and he turned to find Lady Melisandre no longer robed in red, but porcelain in flesh.

 

On reflex he snapped his glance away back down to the painted table. Too stunned to find words, he fled to put the whole of Westeros and half the room between them. Unfazed, Melisandre followed him down to Dorne, and reached a hand through the dark hair on the back of his head. 

 

He jerked it away, “Do not presume to touch me woman.”

 

He shot an angry glance down at her breasts, like ripe peaches, and said stiffly, “Cover yourself.”

 

His tone brokered no argument. Or so he thought, she did not.

 

“You have said the words my King, but words are wind.” Melisandre had learnt quickly the ways of Westeros, that he'd give her. “You must submit yourself fully to R'hllor if you are to make use of his power...” 

 

She moved to touch him again, and again he took a step back out of reach.

 

“You mean you wish me to debase myself with infidelity. In the name of god, of course,” the disgust was clear in his voice.

 

“Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the Lord of Light.”

 

“If you were a man I would geld you for this.” Stannis did not appreciate the manner Melisandre slyly raised her eyebrows. “Do not doubt it. As it is, you and your counsel are too valuable to me. Do not mistake me for my brother again, and I will forget your indiscretion.”

 

“As you wish, my King.”

 

Just the memory of that incident made his jaw clench. Women were as weak as men it seemed to him. That much at least they had in common. You gave both of them the light of civilisation, laws and institutions, and all they wished to do was to act like dogs. 

 

At the time he had thought that would be the end of it. He carried on as if nothing had happened, and she did the same. Unfortunately, it seemed Melisandre had not bent to his iron will, but merely changed tact.

 

A few days and nights had passed when Lady Selyse came to pay him a visit. She rarely sought him out, much less when he was in his chambers. So, he made sure to listen to what she had to say, if only to make sure it was nonsensical prattle before sending her away with a curt request not to disturb him again. 

 

When she began, “Husband, I know you have always been faithful to our marriage vows...” he knew already that this would be a conversation he did not wish to have. When Selyse continued to prattle on mindlessly about the virtues of R'hllor, he interrupted that she should either get to the point, or get out. 

 

She took a deep breath and said, “The point is husband sometimes sacrifices have to be made to show our faith in the Lord of Light." An echo of Melisandre, it did not pass his notice.

 

Stannis decided, there and then, to give the woman a jolt of reality about her beloved red priestess, and what she considered a 'show of faith', by relating to her bluntly the incident, which had passed a few nights ago in the room of the painted table. 

 

Selyse did not bat an eyelid. 

 

“I know you are... sensitive to such things,” she said carefully for Stannis' expression to darken. “But if Lady Melisandre proclaims it necessary, then it must be done. For the Lord of Light, for your claim to the throne.”

 

“And why exactly does it serve any purpose to betray my duty to my wife? Because the night is dark and full of terrors?” he added dryly.

 

Selyse missed the jibe, “Yes husband, but you must ask her that. She could only tell me that she had powers she cannot use without your commitment to R'hllor in body as well as mind. And it is not a betrayal of your duty as a husband, not if I support it.”

 

He sent her away then, but not without first informing her that out of the ridiculous counsel he had received from her over the years, this was by far the most ridiculous of the lot. 

 

Nevertheless, the red priestess had powers, that he couldn't deny. Nor that they caught his interest, captured a curiosity in him that he'd long thought dead to such fantasy. 

 

As a boy he had read avidly of such things; the history of Westeros, every bit he could get his hands on, the peoples and cultures across the narrow sea, and things even more wondrous besides. Of all the creatures he had read about, he had liked dragons best of all. But age had quickly brought him a draught of bitter cynicism, and when Lady Melisandre first came to Dragonstone, he thought of her as nothing more than a pusher of cheap tricks and hopeful lies. Just like any other priest he had ever met.

 

But she had foreseen Robert's death; murdered by a boar, she said. Of all things, he had asked himself, a boar? It had come to pass. Then the arrival of Ned Stark's raven confirming his rightful place as king, seen too in her flames. Maester Cressen... the old man had tried to poison her, and she drank every drop to be, as she claimed, protected by her red god and impossibly unharmed. All of it had made him wonder that the tricks were anything but cheap. She had real power he did not doubt, and without the army he needed to fight for his rightful claim he intended to make use of her every bit.

 

Now halfway up the winding staircase, Stannis' normally brisk pace reduced to the steady crawl of a condemned man asked to walk to the gallows. 

 

A few days after the words of his wife, Stannis requested Lady Melisandre to walk with him on the battlements. There it was cold enough that no-one would consider derobing themselves, and he made sure always to keep a good few inches of distance between them. A few inches that she on the other hand seemed intent on closing. Despite the sound of the waves thundering against the rocks, the wind whistling through his ears, her velvet voice found her way to him clear as daybreak.

 

“I know Lady Selyse has spoken with you.”

 

“You saw it in the flames?” he asked.

 

“She told me.”

 

“Ah.” 

 

Inwardly he cursed himself for his previous foolish statement, and said, “Well then, if you are in a mind to speak plainly, I would take advantage of it. What powers do you speak of that you deem so indispensable?”

 

“For my King to claim the iron throne?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I have seen the path. A path dark and full of enemies, but R'hllor gives forth light. Light that creates shadows... and we must use them.”

 

“If you do not stop speaking in riddles, I assure you, I will have no part in it.”

 

This time she obeyed, at least somewhat. “You will go to your brother. Demand he bends the knee and joins his forces to yours. He will not. You will leave the field with his army, but only through the power of the Lord of Light can they be won.”

 

“... And what then must I do?”

 

She stepped closer, letting the velvet of her words mix with the wind in his ear, “You must join your body to mine. Give a part of yourself to R'hllor, and he will reward you with the army you require.” Her fingers trailed up his arm, through leather and cold, listening to her words, he did not notice. “As Azor Ahai, the lord's chosen, it is your... duty to show the Lord of Light faith in body as well as in mind.”

 

“My duty?”

 

Lady Melisandre knew him better than he would like, that much was certain. Stannis stretched himself over too many duties as it was already, he did not honestly believe he could live up to being some sort of messiah to a red god as well. But so long as those duties coincided to his rights as king... did he dare ignore them? 

 

He had concluded that he could not.

 

Reluctantly, he had finally agreed to the ritual on the condition that Selyse be present. If he was to betray his marital vows, best do it truthfully. An honest betrayal was paradox enough for him to rationalise it in his mind. Almost.

 

So it was that Stannis finally reached the last step of the stairs to stand outside the heavy wooden door to the chambers of Selyse. It could be worse, he told himself; he should be glad Melisandre was not asking for him to be castrated. If this was the seven, 'giving a part of yourself' would have meant exactly that. 

 

That thought in his mind, face grim, jaw clenched, he put his hand over the iron ring of the latch and opened forth the door.

 

Inside the women waited for him. Lady Selyse, pinch faced as normal, sat draped across a divan, while Melisandre stood staring into the crackling fireplace robed in red. For now at least. When she turned to face him, the ruby at her throat seemed to sense his presence to pulse forth redder and deeper than before. 

 

Ominously, behind them lay the four poster bed.

 

“Husband, you are late,” his wife chided, her tone as casual as if he was late for dinner.

 

“I was delayed.” 

 

Selyse and Melisandre exchanged a knowing look. He crossed his arms, having half a mind to turn on his heel and march straight back out the door, duty be damned.

 

“My King.” Without a hint of shame, Melisandre took two steps towards him and let her robe fall to the floor. Neither of them had any shame, he realised; Selyse passed her eyes over Melisandre's lithe, naked form and looked almost proud to be there. Stannis took a sudden fascination in the ceiling.

 

“How do you wish to... proceed with this?”

 

Melisandre answered swiftly, “If your grace would undress, Lady Selyse can help you if you wish, and make yourself comfortable on the bed. I shall perform the rest.”

 

Selyse looked eager at the suggestion, Stannis would have none of it.

 

“What little undressing there shall be I shall do myself.” He forced his eyes from the ceiling to bore them into the red of Melisandre's, “Whatever you do, do it quickly. Let us get this over and done with.”

 

He strode to the bed, giving the nude priestess a wide birth as he did so. Gingerly, he sat down to pull off his left boot, then his right, and unbuckle his belt to leave it next to his boots. He paused; the eyes of both women watched him expectantly. Stannis stood up once more, angry at the red flush he could feel on his face, and awkwardly turned his back on the two of them to unlace his breeches. Finally, the laces loose, he climbed onto the bed and laid flat on his back for his eyes to once again fixate the ceiling. Through habit his mind began to think about what it always did when he was required to lie with Selyse.

 

_House Martell of Sunspear. Words, unbowed, unbent, unbroken. Lesser houses sworn loyalty, Hellholt, Starfall, Godsgrace, Kingsgrave, Blackmont, Salt Shore, Yronwood. House Lannister of Casterly Rock. Words, hear me roar. Lesser houses sworn loyalty, Payne, Marbrand, Westerling, Clegane-_

 

“Lord of Light, bless the fire in our loins,” she chimed forth to jolt him out of Westeros, “and through the union of our bodies, both male and female, make us one to reflect our image, in both light and shadow, to drive away the dark.” 

 

Stannis really didn't think Melisandre could have found something more off-putting to say than that.

 

He tensed as he felt her weight join him on the bed. 

 

“You will touch me as little as possible,” he warned her through gritted teeth, still with his eyes transfixed on the ceiling as she positioned herself over the lower half of his body, one knee on either side of his legs.

 

“Relax my King, and perhaps you will enjoy your devotion to R'hllor more than you think,” she purred. Over on the divan, Selyse shifted a little uncomfortably at that remark, or at least Stannis hoped she did.

 

Melisandre began to run her hands up and down his thighs, the warmth of her fingers seeping through his breeches. In his mind, Stannis resumed his tour of the great houses of Westeros.

 

_House Arryn of the Eyrie. Words, high as honour. Lesser houses sworn loyalty, Royce, Baelish-_

 

Stannis flinched as he felt her fingers suddenly smooth around the skin of his hips to tug down at his breeches. Finally, his eyes fell shut as one warm hand moved to cup his groin... 

 

“For the night is dark and full of terrors,” Melisandre spoke.

 

He knew she was beautiful, but any arousal Stannis may have felt from her and her hands went stone cold at those words. To his right, Selyse echoed her to irritate him twice as much. He turned his head, eyes open to glare at his wife furiously, and spat, “You're not at a nightfire, woman.” 

 

When he turned back, he caught Melisandre staring at him expectantly, as if trying to prompt him. _Does she really expect me to say that now of all times?_

 

She did.

 

“... For the night is dark... and full of terrors,” he ground out finally, feeling more ridiculous than he had in a long time.

 

After a while, still nothing happened.

 

“Perhaps, Lady Selyse could-”

 

“No! Selyse's duty is to be present and nothing more,” and even that he was fast regretting.

 

“Then perhaps if you would permit me to touch you more than the minimum,” she said, her usual melodic voice betraying a touch of irritation. She bent down over him, low enough for her breasts to press against the black leather of his tunic, “and remove your clothes properly. Trust me, my King, you will not wish to wear them.”

 

Stannis swallowed. Her face, eyes and lips only inches from his own, he put one hand across her collar bones to push her back, “No. Continue as you were, only... its been a while since last I... just give me a minute, woman!” he finished irritably. “And don't speak. It's worse when you speak.”

 

Stannis closed his eyes again, but this time imagined that the hands caressing his lower body were not slender and lithe, but strong and rough, that the thighs that pinned him to the bed were hard, not soft, and that the scent wafting over him was salt and leather, not dusky smoke and ash.

 

Finally, he felt the rush of blood as his cock hardened. Melisandre stroked him twice more, then nimbly manoeuvred him inside of her; slick, wet and searing heat. So hot he winced, his back arching involuntary as his hands clenched into fists.

 

Melisandre moved deftly, efficiently, her hips undulating with an ardent rhythm. Her movements began to spread the heat through his groin, up his stomach to his chest. Eyes screwed shut, Stannis clamped his bottom lip between his teeth to try and fail to stifle a groan. His mind groped in the dark for a name of a house.

 

_House Tyrell of Highgarden... words, ours is the fury... loyal men... house Seaworth..._

 

His teeth broke blood on his lips. The heat intensified, creeping further up his body for the skin on his neck and face to flush red. The sweat began to run down the lines in his face, his whole body slick with it for his leather clothes to cling to skin and stifle it. The heat suffocated him till Stannis could bear it no longer.

 

“Take it off!” he gasped out ragged, “I can't breathe. Gods, take it off!”

 

Melisandre didn't need to ask what. Her fingers were quick over the laces to tear off his tunic, never once breaking her rhythm. 

 

It wasn't enough. Stannis' hands clawed at his back to throw off his undershirt, baring his skin to air that seemed only to have dried out around him. His chest heaving, his breath came in shallow gasps, the air only a desert to his parched lungs. Melisandre ran her hands over his flesh through the sheen of sweat; he twisted and writhed powerless underneath her as the warmth of her hands left further red blotches across his stomach and chest.

 

Through the haze of heat rendering him ever more undone, he squinted at Meilsandre close to silent atop him. Her cold composure could have been of someone shaking hands, her only passion the ruby at her neck flashing crimson and the fever of the fanatic in her eyes. 

 

As if to make her feel something, anything, he moved one hand to clench down hard on the soft skin of her hip. She gave no reaction, he squeezed harder, still it seemed the pain was nothing to her.

 

Finally, the heat built to such an intensity Stannis could have mistaken it for a gelding. His whole body felt like it was going to explode, every muscle pulled taut, his head seared with delirium. Release came to him like a jolt from his chest to his cock. His very being seemed to ejaculate from his body, the rightful King at that moment rendered unable to recall even the name of the realm. 

 

Everything around him stilled. Everything except the thundering of his beating heart.

 

He might have blacked out then, he wasn't sure. Perhaps his senses had just left him. When they returned, at least in part, he became aware of soft words being spoken above him. Then the feel of a thumb smearing the blood off his lip, followed by a body touching almost the whole length of his own. Then two lips. Soft and warm, pressing into his, dried and cracked.

 

“My King,” they whispered.

 

When a tongue slipped through to touch his own, he could do nothing but tremble.

 

He couldn't breathe. He had to breathe.

 

Limbs heavy as lead, his hands clumsily made their way down her back to find her waist and push the red woman away. She let him. The break of contact let cool air rush over him like bliss.

 

Stannis dragged himself up into a sitting position; he fought an exhausted, still burning body that at any moment threatened to pitch him off back into unconsciousness. Ignoring his still panting chest, his sedated mind, Stannis swung his legs over the side of the bed, and tried to stand up.

 

His legs as firm as mud gave out immediately for him to crash into the floor.

 

“Husband!” He had forgotten she was still there. Without thinking, his wife fussed her hands over him to try to help him off the floor. 

 

Reflex kicked in. “Don't... clutch at me, woman,” he gasped out weakly. All the same he clutched her shoulder to be slowly pushed back onto the bed, his own iron muscles, no longer firm, but melted down and useless.

 

Once again overcome by light headedness, a strange void in his mind that was not entirely unpleasant, Stannis had no choice but to collapse back down onto the mattress, arms spread out either side of him, his legs hanging off the side of the bed. He could feel his wife's hands as they pulled his breeches back up around his waist. No fight left in him, Stannis shifted his hips to let her.

 

Hazily, he lifted his head just enough to watch Selyse as she thread and tied the laces. Even in his state, he noticed that her cheeks were also tinted a deep red, her breathing unsteady too. 

 

His head lolled back. Trying to breath normally was all the effort he could manage, and his eyes fluttered close to see no more.

 

“Will he be all right?” a voice sounded that for once didn't irritate him. The bed shifted, both to his left and to his right.

 

“Yes, he is strong. He will recover well. He is simply spent after devoting so much of himself to the Lord of Light and needs some rest.”

 

For some reason, Stannis smiled at that.

 

There was a pause, then the second melodic voice spoke again, “I never realised he had such broad shoulders.”

 

“Yes, he does have quite a handsome body,” thin fingers began to explore idly up his stomach muscles. “I only wish he would dress better, though I've long given up persuading him of it. It really is beyond me what impression he's trying to give out every day dressing like a common sell sword...”

 

A final thought passed through his head before drowsiness took him, _stop clutching me woman..._

 

When Stannis awoke it was with a shudder to the darkness.

 

He didn't know how much time had passed since sleep took him, but as the room was black with the night, the fire place now just embers and hot coals, it could well have been hours. Apparently, someone had moved him to lie properly in the bed, under the blankets with his head on the pillows. Curled up next to him was Selyse, asleep in her nightclothes with one arm draped across his waist.

 

Lady Melisandre was gone.

 

Disgustedly, Stannis used finger and thumb to move his wife's arm away, and slid out of the bed. Thankfully, this time, his legs held steady.

 

Stannis cringed at the memory of himself pathetic on the floor, needing his wife's help to struggle back onto the bed. Selyse had witnessed him in a state so wretched, he was unable to even pull up his own breeches. Mortified, his shoulders shuddered when he remembered that she had had to do it for him, the laces too.

 

Quickly, using the dull glow from the fireplace, Stannis began to search the floor for his clothes. Skin still prickling with heat, he pulled on his boots and located his belt and tunic. Unfortunately, his undershirt was nowhere to be found. 

 

Again Stannis physically cringed as his mind's eye was suddenly filled with the image of himself groaning and desperate, ripping the shirt off his back to toss it anywhere across the room. The memory seemed to make the terrible heat return to his chest. The room was stifling him; Stannis could no longer bear it, he had to get out.

 

Pulling on his tunic and abandoning his shirt as a lost cause, he propelled himself from the room and almost slammed the door, uncaring for the sleep of Selyse. Outside, he leant his back against the wood and took a deep shuddering breath. When Stannis had first woken up, he had felt a little odd, but overall fine. Now, as all the memories of a few hours ago came tumbling back to him, his whole body began to tremble. 

 

Shakily, one hand on the wall to steady himself, Stannis began to make his way back down the spiral staircase. 

 

He had been weak. So utterly weak to lose himself so completely under the touch of a woman. Worse, he had bared himself, every base instinct, every vulnerability, every last scrap of pride, naked to the two of them. His skin still felt the after burn of the red woman's hands, her sex, all of it radiating enough heat for Stannis to feel stifled in his own skin. Through his head churned their twisting bodies, three not two, for Stannis to recoil from his own mind. When the memories swirled forth of his final groaning submission, he slumped down at the bottom of the staircase and raked his hands over his face and temples, as if to rub out the memories to no avail. 

 

As if his shame was not complete enough, the foul images in his head were causing a dull ache in his groin that even Stannis recognised as desire. In the end, he was no better than Robert. No better even than any common man who paid coin to sully himself in a brothel.

 

Utterly disgusted with himself, feeling filthy from head to toe, he forced himself back to his feet to march to his own chambers. A few unsteady steps in their direction, and he was struck by a sudden sinking feeling: he had asked his Onion Knight to wait for him in his chambers tonight. 

 

Stannis cursed his foolishness for thinking he would want to speak to anyone after his disgrace. Unbidden the feel of Melisandre's tongue flashed through his mind to fill him once more to the brim with shame. He turned to press his burning, almost feverish forehead and hands to the cool of the stone wall. It gave him little respite, his body not ceasing to shake, but the cool was better than nothing and his sickening thoughts passed.

 

No matter how late it was, Stannis was sure Davos would still be waiting for him. If it was any other man they would have left after an hour, but not his loyal, obedient Davos. Another shudder took hold of Stannis; he just couldn't face him. Not tonight.

 

Instead, running his hand over the damp, cold wall, another idea of what he needed came to him. An idea to chill the heat and wash away the sweat.

 

Stannis changed direction and began to walk again, steadier now. His stride almost returned to his normal brisk step as he moved with purpose, descending more winding staircases, through more dark passage ways and even more steps besides. 

 

Finally, Stannis opened a door to pass though a hidden exit from the keep to the island shore, and quench his lungs in the cold night air. Dimming twilight had long given way to the pitch black of night, clouds blocking even the stars from view. He considered for a moment taking the torch off the wall just inside the door, then just as quickly discarded the idea. He had had enough fire for one evening. Instead he let his eyes adjust to the dark and followed the familiar sound of the sea rumbling against the beach, his boots crunching on the pebbles with every step.

 

As Stannis got closer, the rumble separated into the sound of a thousand individual pebbles being pushed and pulled to rustle together through the drag of the waves. He could perceive the dark swirl of the waters before him, the sheer, uncontrollable power that separated it in his vision from the black of night. More than that even, he knew he stood on the very edge of the tide when, with each wave that surged up the beach, he could hear not only the sound of the pebbles, but the sound of the very tips of the shallows lapping over one another as they climbed the shore. 

 

Stannis stood on the very edge, the sea just touching his leather boots before again retreating back down the beach. He savoured the cooling sensation of the sea breeze across his face, though the skin of his body still chafed with heat and shame. Just the breeze was not enough. 

 

Stannis turned to look into the dark back up the beach to the keep. The darkness was empty. He was alone. 

 

Without another moment of hesitation, he began to strip off his clothes, boots, breeches, tunic, completely baring himself to the night and more naked than either Melisandre or Selyse had seen him. The sea breeze curled its cold fingers around the whole of him, but still it was not enough to appease him.

 

Stannis ran forward and plunged into the first wave deep enough to take him. The icy water rushed straight through him. It froze the air in his lungs, embraced every part of his body to chill him to his very core. When he broke the surface to rejoin the night, the fire smouldering in his bloodstream was gone, extinguished. 

 

Again Stannis let himself be submerged by the cold depths of the waves, a willing submission to the raw power of the sea. The waves surged through him, swirled and caressed him. Stroke after stroke after stroke, he only emerged to the night to fill his lungs with oxygen before returning himself to the waters. Wave after wave the salt water scourged every inch of him clean from the touch of his demons.

 

Finally, Stannis kicked to break the surface. Clear headed for the first time in several hours, it had occurred to him just how dangerous and absurd it was to go swimming in the sea by oneself in the middle of the night. For some reason it hadn't mattered to him before; it did now. Drowning himself certainly would not help him win the iron throne.

 

With that thought in mind, he struck back for the shore.

 

Sated but shivering, Stannis clambered back onto the beach and, after a long walk along the pebbly shore line, found were he had left his sullied clothes. He sat down next to them, not ready to put them on just yet.

 

Stannis shivered from the cold, but his mind, no longer engrossed in the act of swimming, began again to torment him with his weakness. He ground his teeth. The chill had stilled the burning, the waters had cleansed him of the scent of women, yet it changed little else. His mind still would give him no peace.

 

The pebbles were starting to dig into him, so with a grim face and a heavy heart he pulled on his clothes for the second time that night and returned to the keep.

 

On the way to his chambers Stannis had decided that if Davos was still there waiting for him, he would immediately tell him to get out and leave him be. Stannis was certain he was in no mood for anyone's company, and the Onion Knight had far better things to be doing than watching him brood. Sleeping, for one.

 

When he arrived at his door, he found it hadn't been properly closed, and sure enough inside he found Davos sitting at the table in front of the fire, staring at the contents of a book, chin resting in one hand. 

 

“Ser, what are you doing here?”

 

Davos jumped, clearly he had not noticed the King's entrance. Snapping the book shut, he got to his feet, “Waiting for you, your grace. You did tell me you might be a long time.”

 

“So I did.” 

 

Sheepishly, Davos turned to put the book back on the shelf, though not before Stannis had caught the title, _'A History of the Development of the Westerosi Shield_ '. It only confirmed his suspicion that Davos had no idea what he was reading. At that thought, Stannis realised he was no longer frowning.

 

Motioning for Davos to sit, Stannis walked further into the room to pull up another chair for himself. As he did so, the light from the fireplace must have fallen across his face as Davos suddenly exclaimed, “Gods, you look terrible. Your grace, did something happen? Are you... wet?”

 

“Yes. What do you wish to drink, water or wine?”

 

As if that was entirely normal, Davos left his first question to ask warily instead, “Does the water have lemons in it?”

 

Stannis took that as answer enough to pour Davos a goblet of wine and treat himself to the lemon water. After a good, bitter sip, he stated flatly, “I went for a swim.”

 

For a moment Davos just stared at him. “In the dark? Isn't that...”

 

“Foolish? Very. But things have happened to make me no longer feel myself.”

 

Stannis didn't expect Davos to understand that, yet he seemed compelled to say it anyway. For a long while it seemed as if Davos really didn't know how to respond.

 

Finally Davos said, “Should I wake the Maester, your grace?”

 

“Are you my mother, ser? No, that will not be necessary. Instead let us talk of ships. In particular, the ships in the fleet of Salladhor Saan. We will need-”

 

“Your grace, are you _sure_ you are all right?”

 

Stannis considered that for a moment, letting his blue eyes bore into the Onion Knight's brown.

 

“Yes. At least I am now, Davos. I am now.”

 

 


End file.
